They Come Back

It's not that I don't appreciate the messages, calls, texts, chats.
I'm sure what lies in them is more than the obvious:
your loneliness, coupled with a renewed heat
for what I had given so freely
a year ago, or more.
Your own heartbreak, seeking out
the shared pain
the anguish
the camaraderie of my own broken soul.

I'm sure, buried deep in the invitations
the checking ins
the positive affirmations for each new day,
there is an aim towards genuine friendship,
a desire to shoulder this long season ahead with
warmth
of bourbon and wine
fire
the poetry we effortlessly coo to one another
as if we were, ourselves, the love letters between such greats
as Kahlil and Mary, who lived their entire lives
wrapped in the blanket of language, love lost
forever
from them both.

Your efforts are not unnoticed, my dear.
The lines you cast into my crashing waves
return to you empty,
without the meat and meal you hunger for most.
I see the hook and bait you choose
ever so carefully, cautiously...
but even the most delectable temptations
are wasted
on a woman who will not feed.

It is not your fault, tender lover,
when rage boils over in my heart
liquid fire in every organ
bearing the banner which reads
"They always come back."
It is only a preoccupation in my mind.
The anger, the reeling that
for as easy as it was to cast me once into the turbulent seas,
always, and each time, they all come back to me.


They come back, pecking vultures,
dope fiends needing a fix of
my sex, my gracious heart,
to wear me on their arm
or chain me to the bed until
(as it always has gone, and, what reason
is left for me to believe it would ever be otherwise?)
they find, once again, someone
some thing
that mystical element which I seem not to possess
not for anyone,
but that will always entreat and entice them
away again,
as I lay bound in shackles
sinking to the ocean floor.

I know you mean not to watch me drown.
I know, at this time, in your heart
you are most certain and determined to
carry me from the water, to
place me on the gentle earth, to
breathe what life has been lost to me
back into my lungs, to
see me open my eyes, unveiled with skepticism and defeat,
that I might "see" you. That I might smile at the sight.

This is what they always want when they come back.

For you, o bereft pirate,
I say this:
your ship came and went.
You know this already.
In my current fury, I would warn you
not to be drawn to this siren's song...
you know the myth, and may end up, yourself
at the bottom of the sea...

but rest quietly at your prow,
and gently stroke the black waters of my heart's discontent
with no hope or expectation.
You may linger there, and
hum along to my sad love songs, and
peer into the shallows beneath the water's surface, and
maybe
just maybe
at the very least...

I might one day smile.

There Are No Obstacles, Only Options

I wrote that line today to my beloved who recently took his leave from my life.

I am thinking of how many times in recent weeks, I heard that from him, "There are too many obstacles." For him, this meant that we live thousands of miles apart. It meant that our lifestyles and work may be incompatible (however complimentary I believed them to be). And ultimately, that he wasn't feeling the strong desire to try to make a romantic partnership with me... because there were just too many obstacles.

In the six months since we were first introduced online (which, I guess, could be seen as an obstacle in and of itself), we spent long hours, days, weeks and months in conversation. I found him to be a very wise man, with beautiful philosophies (borrowed and his own) about life and love. A very positive person. A grateful heart, who embraced life, capturing its beauty with his unique talent as a photographer... his singular eye which seized such precious moments, to be admired and enjoyed by us all.

I remember when he first came to visit me three months ago, and we poured through slideshows of his work. My first impression was, "Wow - these are really beautiful!" As more and more kept passing on the screen, I thought, "How amazing to witness even ONE of these instances, let alone the hundreds and thousands he had!" Finally, it came to me, "What a blessed person he must be, how spiritually rich, to be God's eye, marveling in the glorious splendor the Creator has given us (which most of us fail to even recognize)." My impression of this man was that he was most definitely in the flow of life, supported by the universe, open to beauty and love and the positive energy of our world.

My heart and soul recognized him, then, as a kindred spirit, for although I had spent a long part of my life in pain and suffering, I had worked very hard in recent years to transcend my very own obstacles of mind and thought... and had finally landed on my true path, also in the flow of life, supported by the universe, living each day to its fullest, being of service to my community, tending to the work which is mine alone, dutifully and joyfully. For me, as we were exploring this new friendship, this new deep connection, this potential partnership, I saw no obstacles. I saw, instead, infinite potential.

I chose him. I chose to open my heart to him. I chose to trust again, despite the cruel betrayals I had suffered relentlessly in the past. But I chose differently this time. The choice would not be to abandon myself, my work, my life as it was for the love of this man... No! Far from it! My choice was to be open to him, to love purely with no demands, to allow our selves to be just as we are, and trust that everything will pan out exactly as it should.

If love is a bridge between two people, I had always walked over that bridge in the past, to the other side, to meet my love where he was at and join him on his journey. This time, I was clear: I would be willing to walk halfway up that bridge, and if he was willing to meet me there, together we could surmount any obstacles - time, distance, the logistics of life. There were no barriers in my heart or mind. Life is a myriad of possibility, and every option was open to us.

So, when he came for this long-awaited visit, and we reunited once more, I told him as much the very morning of his arrival. Although I was still not 100% about this romantic pairing, so far it had been 100% wonderful, and I was grateful to have this time with him, to open ourselves to the other, to continue the exploration, being present with one another as we did so.

Throughout the first week of his stay, I felt the walls around his heart, which hadn't been there when last we were together. I felt my own walls go up in response to it, and spoke to him about it, as we always felt comfortable to communicate all our thoughts and feelings. He agreed and admitted that his walls were up. "I just see too many obstacles," he said again and again. He didn't want a long-distance relationship, though I had never asked for one. He felt we were on the same path, but that I was on a speed train, while he was on a bicycle, though I had asked for no kind of declaration or commitment. I reiterated, my only expectation was that we would be open, relinquish our fears, and enjoy this time for what it was.

A week into the visit, he announced that he "just wasn't feeling it." He had no explanation. Despite our mutual connection, our passion, our admiration for each other and each other's work, our exquisite communication, our shared desires for life and love... He could only say that he wasn't feeling that magical elixir that would make him want to dedicate himself to me exclusively. Again, I hadn't asked that from him, but he felt it was my true desire... which, for him, was yet another obstacle.

What could I do? Nothing. I couldn't convince him to change his mind, and to be open again, and I was clear with myself that I wouldn't want to coerce someone into loving me. I instantly felt the loss of all the potential, as well as for our short-term plans... for me to come spend three weeks with him in his home, seeing his life, exploring more there. Ancient fears crept up in me as well: that old karmic pattern of being so loved and admired, but put aside time and time again. With so much beautiful potential between us, how could he cast it all aside?

Because he saw only obstacles.

The following week of his stay was a roller-coaster of emotions. I had been there before. Desperately trying to make sense of the illogical. Knowing that I was now at a familiar crossroads. In the past, I had followed the path which spiralled down into the deepest, darkest, scariest forest of my inner world. There, I had languished. I had deprived myself of food, and sleep. I had neglected the life above and around me, and my responsibilities, only making the climb out more treacherous and difficult and laborious. I had chosen the path of obstacles, and collected more and more of them on those dark journeys, from which it had taken years to truly heal and step back into the light of my life.

This time, standing at the crossroads, I looked down that shady road that called to me. I knew the way so well. There were familiar ghosts and demons in the underbrush that sang the haunting melodies of my deepest pain. They wanted me. They were hungry, and I had always offered myself as an abundant feast. My heart, which had been beating itself against my brittle ribs, desperately trying to escape the prison of my breast, pulled me towards them. If she couldn't leap from my body on her own, she would be most happy to be devoured once again.

But my mind said, "no." It was only a small voice in my mind. And I knew, I could not feel my way through it this time. I couldn't indulge my heart and consciously plummet into the abyss of misery. My mind said it again, "No!" I drew the attention away from the physical pain - the nausea of heartbreak in my belly, the headaches, the sleeplessness and fatigue. "NO! I SAID NO, GOD DAMN IT!" I liked this voice. I looked down the other path from where I stood, and above the demands of my mind, heard the most beautiful melodies, heard my father's voice, heard an eagle's wings flapping.

I saw there are only options. Choices. It would be my choice to rise, or my choice to fall.

I had been disappointed that the man I loved, whom I saw as someone so evolved and enlightened, had in truth been so very limited. Because of his past, because of his fears, because of his addictions, the obstacles he saw between us had barred him from giving and receiving pure love. He had blockaded himself from sharing and exploring with a woman so deliciously open, liberated, self-fulfilled, and full of light and joy. He cemented his feet from climbing up the bridge to meet me halfway, and explore the realm of possibility together, as equals. He came to me with walls already around his heart, and had said that I mustn't have had the right key to open that door. I think he changed the locks.

I see only options. No obstacles. The path I have turned towards is the path of my true spirit. I am met with sunlight. There is music all around me. My father kisses my head now that I finally lay my head down to rest, and put the spoon to my mouth to feed. Eagle circles above me, and all my angels are dancing and clapping.

We will always be presented with spiritual trials in life. It will never end. But this time, I choose wisely. I choose me. I choose life. I choose to celebrate this love, even when it is met with resistance. I just don't see that as an obstacle...

I see it as a testament.

I will not feed into my ancient fears. I will not let those old barriers creep back in. I will have faith that there will come a day when a beloved will appear to walk up that bridge and meet me where I'm at.

And he, whomever he is, will be one lucky son of a bitch.

Counting

The last time he left on a plane to head back home,
I felt my heart rip from my breast and leap into the sky,
attached itself to the wing of his ride,
and to him.
My heart, grown woman as she is,
chose to love
chose to wait
chose to be patient
chose to be true.

I counted down months, then weeks, days and hours
until his return.
Now, I’m already counting hours since he’s left...
Currently, we’re at 3 hours and 39 minutes into this healing.
But unlike last time, there are no tears
no banshee screams
or death cries
because this time my mind, grown woman as she is,
is choosing to love
and choosing to let go.

This time, there is no question
no wondering
if we’ll keep talking long distance,
if he has feelings for me,
if we’ll ever see each other again...
The decision has already been made,
because he is a grown man
and told me so.

No. The answer would be no.

3 hours and 44 minutes in.
I wonder how long I’ll be counting.

“Its just a matter of acceptance,” I told him at dinner last night,
for I will never understand why.
He will not bother himself to find a reason.
“It just is what it is,” he had said, “Just what I feel.”

I’ve been here before.
Too many times, really.

But all those thens resulted in my tearing my life and body and mind apart...
Desperate to understand the illogical:

For months, almost daily conversation expressing the mutual connection neither of us had experienced in years.
The admiration for each other’s work.
The shared goals and dreams for partnership, family and life.
The intense and passionate physical connection.
The ease and openness and comfort with which we communicate.
The humor and joy abundant between us.

Active planning for travel, creative work, taking it slowly as it comes
with no pressure
or demands
or timelines to decide.
It was just open. We were exploring. We were enjoying.

“You say you’re just not feeling it?” I asked with furrowed brows, “Just not feeling what?”

“The magic isn’t there. I think you are so amazing and beautiful and sexy and talented... but I have to listen to my heart, and I don’t feel the drive to dedicate myself to you.”

Huh?

“Um, but I didn’t ask for your dedication... I didn’t ask for anything other than that we both enjoy this openness, honor this connection, savor our time together, no matter what the outcome.”

Well, this is the outcome.

I will never make sense of it.
I will go mad the longer I try to.
I have been here before, too, too many times.

3 hours and 58 minutes down.
He’s halfway home.

Acceptance is the only answer for me, now, on my own again.
The plaguing questions must be kicked to the curb by the single thought:
“You will never understand. It does not make sense. He has made his choice.”

And my choice?
To smash every clock in this empty home
and never count another second again.

Tears Again... Fears Again...

I just get worried sometimes that it’s going to be such a lonely life for me.

Not lonely as in “alone,” because I can’t imagine not being utterly surrounded by friends and family, and even the strangers I meet each day usually connect with me on some level or another.

But lonely.

Lonely for me is having a host of invitations for the holiday weekend, but in choosing to rest at home, there is no one else here to kiss my hand absent-mindedly as we waste the day watching Netflix in bed.

Lonely is making the big plans and dreams for my life, and not having that one person along on the journey, watching the progress as well as the setbacks, loving me through it all.

Lonely is preparing a meal full of love and flavor, pouring a glass of wine, and sitting on the floor to eat at the coffee table, that I might at least sit with my dog and share with him the food leftover from never learning how to cook for one instead of two.

Lonely is this tear that just fell from my eye to my wrist.

I admonish my own self-pity. My blessings are too great, my luck improving, abundance increasing. I feel I have no right to complain... and what good will it do anyway? Reality is: I have crafted this life all on my own. I have made the choices. I reap the rewards, which never come without some sacrifice.... but love? Partnership?

Tears again... Fears again... Is it simply not possible that I could be so loved, even as I am so free?

My experience says “no.” In the past, to have the love, each time and in different ways, I was forced to relinquish that freedom. I sacrificed my music, my choices, my ideas, my dreams. Of course, it could never work thusly, and it never did. So I have learned from those experiences that, above all, I must remain true to myself and my path. I like my self, and my path. I am generally overflowing with pure joy, passion for my work, gratitude for all that has been bestowed upon me. Blissed and blessed, I always say. And after my divorce, I have resolved that to welcome love into my life again, it must be a love that wants and accepts me exactly as I am today.

Tears again... Fears again... Does that love exist for me?

I was encouraged as of late that indeed, it just may! Opened myself to love, in the right way, the smart and healthy way, and stayed on course with who I am, and where I’m at and where I’m headed. Loving purely, with integrity, thick with kindness and care, and benevolent freedom, just as it should be.

Yet, today I feel overlooked, or swept aside maybe, because of current circumstances in part, but also because of who I am and what I do. He called me a “gypsy,” and in his voice the connotation suggested I am too wild, too free, unable to settle down or grow up or whichever direction you’re supposed to go to be deemed worthy of love.

Is there a direction for love? Were they handing out road maps that I missed?

Of course, all of these qualities I inherently possess are the very ones I hear men express desire most for in a woman: fidelity, honesty, good communicator, loving, passionate, affectionate, intelligent, talented, beautiful, self-sufficient, socially graceful. I am not jealous or controlling. I like alone time, and grant it as well. I’m good with kids, and parents. I am optimistic and upbeat. I have a great laugh....

I don’t think it’s so easy to find a woman with so much to offer.

Tears again.... Fears again... Is there another quality inherent to my nature that makes me UN-qualifiable?

I’ve asked. I’ve gotten answers. None of them the same, but all leading back to the same point, which is that:

I cannot have love without being true to myself... and yet, so far, by being true to myself, I have not had that love.

So, as I suck up snot and wipe the mascara-caked tear streaks from my cheeks, I feel my skin stiffening, my armor thickening, my blood cooling. It’s been easier getting by under the facade of superhuman power-woman who is self-possessed and a goddess to all, rather than the vulnerable little girl who cries for impossible love, and just really REALLY wishes her daddy were here to hug her and remind her that to him, she was the most amazing thing in the world.

So, I have to remind myself:

I am amazing. And I’m working hard to be more amazing each and every day. Someday, someone might just come along and figure that out, and be giving thanks for the blessing of me in his life.

And if not, well, it’s still an amazing life. No matter how lonely it sometimes feels.

And I give thanks for the blessing of me in my life.

And even if that love never finds me, I am love. I have so very much to give.

No tears now, no fears. No what-if’s about what may or may not be. Reeling it in, back to the present moment where all my needs are met, and a beloved friend just sent a random note of kindness, and dog and cat have both invited themselves to my bed to whisk my tears away and lend me their physical support.

But I thank you for listening, and for loving.

I love you.

We All Have Our Choices

I had planned it before he even came.

Unearthed the key I had long buried in my most secret place,
warmed it in my hand, waiting.

I was in ritual, preparing for the giving of this gift.
Smudging walls in copal, dressing the scene in orchids and light,
making prayer without even realizing it.

Naivety has always been my crux.

Upon his scent, which paired well with my own pheremonal elixir,
I loosened my grip, careful not to let his eyes catch sight
of the dirtied brass I gently polished between my fingertips.

He took my feet in his hands. This was the way he touched me first.
I slid the teeth of the key into the mouth of the lock,
poised for the turning.

Confirmation came in the kiss. I had chosen wisely.
Head and eyes rolled back, tongues merging, spirit exhaled through my body,
through my crown chakra and out the soles of my feet.
Love's green cords dropped into the earth, anchoring me on his breath.
Under the din of my smile, I heard the lock unhasp its clasp.

The tsunami rolled in from the deepest sea within me,
swelled in every cell,
broke its waves against my skin,
laid waste to bone and vessel, sinew and muscle.

This rapture ensued.

As he entered me, I flowed out and spread wide and vast as the ocean.
From the depths of my primordial waters
came entities that had never before seen the light.
He reached for his camera to capture the sight.

Brilliantly colored, dancing, singing, they made their way to the surface,
drinking oxygen through my pores,
radiating and glowing behind my eyes.

They whispered their names in ancient tongues, but
said I could just call them "Love."

I welcomed Love, then, just as I did him.
It was my choice to open in this way
and at this time.
It was my prerogative to let minutes fall into hours of nails on his back.
It was my directive to angle my hips just so, that he might touchdown on the ocean floor.
It was my aim to wrap around his flesh as tightly as his corkscrew curls wrapped round my digits.
It was my call to fall.

It was his to improvise.

"Love just IS," he had wanted me to believe,
but Love is also a choice,
and we all have our choices.

I chose him before he even came.

I opened that floodgate.

And now that he is gone,
and there is no certainty he will ever return,
and the waters have receded,
exposing the desolate void of loss and pain,

I will live with my choices.

I, alone, will own this Love.

The United Nations of Love (abbreviated version)

*in re-reading the following extended version of this blog, I found I liked to take the first and last phrases of each lover's verse, and so made an abbreviated poem out of it*



I welcomed Egypt to the ranks last night... and it was a peaceful night’s sleep, cradled in the arms of the Pharaoh’s grandson.

I once stood at the border of Egypt, in the town of Eilat, at the southern tip of Israel... we never made it across that border - into Egypt, nor into happily ever after.

Mongolia came as a surprise... I can’t say I helped to solve any of their internal crises, but did seem to revive the Motherland Party in a new and most progressive fashion.

Argentina called on me to instruct two of their finest... their tears have me adopting “Don’t Cy For Me Argentina” as a personal anthem.

Italy, ahhh, Italy.... Mt Vesuvius erupted thrice.

I will say this about Mexicans:... they just love to fuck.

The British men I have served proved to be very enthusiastic and adept lovers... and truth be told, I’m still a sucker for accents.

Columbia offered me an interesting proposition:... white light magic always works better than white powder.

Mmm... that reminds me of the Native American I encountered in my youth... I shall take up singing the chakra meditation of the Cherokee people, and endeavor to return to the tribes one day with better news of justice and peace.

Does a French Canadian count?... “Je vous envoie mon amour, mon ami, et j’espere que nous reverrons dans cette vie, ou dans l’autre...”

There were some Pacific islanders I tended to long ago... I learned some valuable lessons about international trading.

And now I look forward to the Tican arriving three weeks from today... and when it’s time to go... it’s time to go.

The United Nations of Love

Upon awakening in a strange and luxurious bed this morning, the thought came to me:

I am the United Nations of Love.

I hold session under the sheets.

I am the goodwill ambassador to the beautiful lovers of our world, and feel honored to be so welcomed and appreciated by such passionate people of foreign lands, near and far.

I welcomed Egypt to the ranks last night. The revolution came to a standstill as we negotiated new terms for a better future. We sealed the deal with a kiss, and it was a peaceful night's sleep, cradled in the arms of the Pharaoh's grandson.

I once stood at the border of Egypt, in the town of Eilat at the southern tip of Israel. Like so many other diplomats and presidents before me, I spent years in peace talks with the Israeli, used all my womanly prowess and persuasion to convince him to lay down his anger and fear, and cross the frontier into a new life of pure freedom and love. But a people's history of pain and persecution is not so easily swept away, even when exquisite thighs are offered up as pillows to rest the head of its worries and tumultuous past. We never made it across that border - into Egypt, nor into happily ever after.

Mongolia came as a surprise... I hadn't thought my skills and talents would be needed in such a land. As it turns out, they have a rich history of circus performers - arguably, the best in the world. With my gypsy background, I was intrigued and also ready to learn the fine art of body balancing, which I think I pulled off quite well, considering we only had one night for instruction and execution. I can't say I helped to solve any of their internal crises, but did seem to revive the Motherland Party in a new and most progressive fashion.

Argentina called on me to instruct two of their finest in the art of loverhood. I will admit, I had a minor hesitation due to the large age gap between us (you know how young men can become so easily enamored by the sheer dexterity and finesse an older woman has to offer)... but who was I to refuse a call from the likes of Eva Peron? (We share the same shoe size after all.) I tried my best to do nothing less than blow their fledgling minds, and quickly took leave, lest their tears have me adopting "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina" as a personal anthem.

Italy, ahhh Italy. I can't say it was one of my proudest accomplishments, as the Latin lothario stole from the bed of his bride-to-be to hasten to me. I was impressed, however, by his research... It seemed he had spent quite some time gathering news and information of my conquests, and his sheer curiosity and anticipation had simply overwhelmed him. He confessed he could not devote his life to his soon-to-be wife until he had paid homage to an Aphrodite. (Somewhat delusional,mayhaps, but definitely stroked my ego in all the right ways). We had a lovely tour of the countryside and other corporeal landscapes.... and Mt. Vesuvius erupted thrice.

I will say this about Mexicans: they should not be generalized, nor ever deemed inadequate. They are an amazing people, hard workers - dedicated to getting the job done. And quite different from one to the next. Aztec, Mayan, and even of Spanish descent. It's been quite the cultural exploration, and I am pleased to see how they truly pay just honor to their forebearers, despite being converted and conquered over time. I'll suffice to say, I completely understand how they have become known as such a breeding bunch... although it has little to do at all with the Pope or the Church. They just love to fuck.

The British men I have served proved to be very enthusiastic and adept lovers. Unfortunately, and I do feel awful to say it, but in giving a true account from my experiences abroad... it seems that even in this day and age, they do still struggle with hygiene. Likely, as my role dictates, I should have helped them to draft a new policy on this issue, but it just felt awkward... and truth be told, I'm still a sucker for accents.

Columbia offered me an interesting proposition: two brothers (not related by blood) whom I knew even as a young woman, before my career began. One was my first kiss, the other my arch nemesis. Yet, I tended to them both, at very different times in life. I am happy to say that I have always strictly forbidden the use of narcotics in my boudoir (or anywhere else in my sphere, for that matter), and tried in both cases to provide a more healthy and loving influence in their lives. In the end, my tactics proved successful, and I have every confidence that both brothers knew they held very special (and entirely unique) places in my heart. White light magic always works better than white powder.

Mmm... that reminds of the Native American I encountered in my youth. Cherokee. I was a mere 16 years old, and we shared a most spiritual and tantric evening in the spring rains of Texas. I dare say he was one of my first sexual shaman teachers, for I remember experiencing many "firsts" that evening. He told me he was able to see me as an old woman, and that I remained ever beautiful. (I have been clinging to that sentiment ever since.) When he walked me back to my gypsy wagon, in the rain, he bent on his knees, placed his head to my belly, and told me that he loved me - and I knew exactly what he meant. In that moment, that perfect night, we shared pure love, with no hope or expectation of the future. How I wish I might have done more to offer his people the dignity and respect he so lavished on me. Indeed... my work there remains unfinished. I shall take up singing the chakra meditation of the Cherokee people, and endeavor to return the tribes one day with better news of justice and peace.

Does a French Canadian count? They seem to be doing all right. At the very least, I was a brilliant light in the life of the Quebecois for three years. Or maybe a reflection of his crystalline meditations for love and life and spirit. He phoned the other day to say he is unwell and his lungs are ailing. Maybe what Montreal needs most is my soft cooing in their romance language.... "Je vous envoie mon amour, mon ami, et j'espere que nous reverrons dans cette vie, ou dans l'autre..."

There were some Pacific islanders I tended to long ago, Phillippino, if memory serves. They had lost their course and found themselves stranded in this tundra land. Feeling trapped myself at that time, I tried to barter a lift to Borneo. In exchange, I unfolded myself and spread like the sea beneath them. They rode my undulating waves all the way to their home... but forgot to fold me back up and stick me in the boat. Not very decent of them, but still, I learned some valuable lessons about international trading.

And now I look forward to the Tican arriving three weeks from today. I lived in Costa Rica for half a year, and remember the steaming heat of the jungle, and the savage wilderness. I remember the Pacific Ocean... beautiful, sensual, and inviting, yet all the while ready to smash you to the rocks should you not pay attention and heed its warnings. I know not what to expect from this summit, but imagine the best plan of action would be to enjoy it now as I did then: give myself completely to the experience, open myself to love, soak up the heat, the wetness, the wildness, the adventure for all it's worth... and when it's time to go... it's time to go.

I am the United Nations of Love. I am the melting pot. I am the swirling whirling Dervish twirling of sex and lust and connection and pure energy exchange... but this is no democracy any more than it is a dictatorship. There are no votes, or laws, or rules in love, other than this:

Be free. Be genuine. Speak your truth. Live life fully. Expect nothing. Give wholly. Enjoy the moment. Cherish the memory.

Personally, I wouldn't trade this job for anything in the world.